


On The Line

by strangeallure



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, One Shot, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, ash tyler is the perfect boyfriend, but this fic is not about that, except for that one time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 20:10:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21003467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: Michael is away on a mission while Ash stays aboard Discovery. When Michael calls him one night, Ash has an idea.“And there’s so much I want to do, too many things at once, so I’m taking it slow, starting with one of my favorites.”





	On The Line

**Author's Note:**

> Most of my Ashburn ideas want to develop into longfic, complete with the complexities and conflicts that entails, but just once, I wanted to write something uncomplicated, happy and sexy for them. I think I (mostly) succeeded, so enjoy! 
> 
> Thanks to frangipani for encouragement and title help.

“I’m glad you got off a little earlier for once,” Ash says, looking at her from the couch in their quarters. “I always feel bad when it’s so late there. I want to talk to you, but I also want you to get some rest.”

Michael’s been on a mission for a few weeks, and her workload coupled with a two-hour time difference means they don’t even get to comm every day.

“You shouldn’t worry about that, I’ll be fine.” She sits down on her twin bed in the Rigelian Embassy’s guest wing, already clad in satin pajamas Amanda gifted her last year. At home, she usually steals one of Ash’s shirts to go with old yoga pants, and she now regrets not packing at least one of them.

“Oh, I wasn’t worried about you,” he teases. “Just didn’t want you to be in a mood and annoy Tilly. Maybe even endanger the whole diplomatic mission because you’re cranky.”

“Oh, okay.” Michael keeps a deliberately straight face. “We should probably hang up then. It’s only half an hour until bedtime, better not take any chances.” She's always been good at aloof irony, but these days, she prefers a less cutting, deadpan kind of humor, still finding it easiest to banter with Tilly and Ash, people who truly know her.

“_No, no, no, no, no._” He makes a theatrical gesture of supplication, his holographic image reaching out like he wants to touch her. “Please don’t. I want to take advantage of every minute we have until bedtime.”

“You’re sure?” She raises one eyebrow for effect.

“Actually,” a slow, sly expression spreads on his face, “joining you after bedtime sounds even better.”

Michael feels her mouth curve in response. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” She strokes her hand over the very accurately made covers beneath her. “My bed here just can’t seem to get to that perfect level of comfort and warmth.”

“Discovery has very nice sheets, I agree.” His words come out nonchalant with just the hint of a tease.

“That’s true.” She grins, but quickly feels her features soften as her voice grows earnest. “And the sheets here don’t have you in them.”

His face seems so close – warm, dark eyes, full mouth like an invitation – and Michael wishes she could extend her hand to cup his cheek, feel the thickness of his beard and the softness of his skin. It hits her how far apart they truly are right now.

“I miss you, too,” he says quietly, like he shared her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she nods, wistful. _Five weeks down, four more to go._ During the day, when she’s busy, it seems manageable, but at night, at times like these, when she wants to touch and kiss and hold him, two months seem much too long.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he says, echoing her thoughts, his body bending forward, towards her. The holographic projection isn’t perfect, but it’s good enough to make her miss him even more.

She hums in assent; wishes she could lean in and make it real.

“Your mouth first,” Ash says, voice dipping as his fingers stroke across his own lips before traveling sideways. “And then your cheek and your temple. Suck at that spot behind your ear and make you moan.” Instantly, his words make her tingle, and Michael surprises herself with a small sound. “Then kiss down your neck, slowly, so I can taste the salt on your skin, feel your pulse through my lips before I go lower.”

His eyes are hooded as his hand slides inside his collar. “Would you like that?” he whispers, hoarse.

“I,” she swallows; nervous, excited. “I would.”

“Then how about we both take our shirts off?” he asks with a lazy smile, a promise in his voice as his hands slide down and grab at the edge of his shirt.

“I want to,” she says, a little breathless, and Ash starts pulling up his shirt, exposing the light brown skin of his stomach she knows to be softer than that of his neck or arms and the patch of hair on his chest that tickles when she snuggles up against him. “But I can’t.” She says the words too fast, too decisive. She should probably shut this down before it begins.

Ash stops right with the bunched-up shirt stretched across his face, and it makes for an improbably cute visual. He quickly pulls the hem back down, the flat of his hand smoothing out the fabric.

“Of course,” he says, rearranging his expression into something warm and reassuring. “I didn’t mean to spring this on you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says, at a loss for the right words. “I want to.” She smiles and it feels sheepish. “I wish I could. I mean, I think about you like that.” It’s ridiculous not to just come right out and say it, yet she feels a blush creeping up her neck when she adds, “A lot.”

Ash returns her smile and somehow, it feels even warmer than before. “Good to know.”

“Just, the video feed-” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean. I like looking at you, I do.”

He laughs softly, and Michael can’t help thinking that she knows exactly what that laugh would feel like if she were in his arms right now, how his warmth would reverberate from his chest through her body.

“But it also makes me miss you more,” she tries to explain. “Seeing you in our quarters while I’m on the other end of the galaxy. Knowing how far apart we are.” She sighs, and for a moment, they’re both quiet.

“I have an idea,” he says, perking up visibly. “If you’re up to try.”

She purses her lips and tilts her chin, his excitement piquing her interest.

“How about we switch to audio only, turn down the lights in our quarters and,” he pauses briefly, “talk.” A frisson sweeps through her body at the way his voice dips on the last word.

“I like the thought,” she says carefully, and the way he looks up at her shows that he senses the _but_ coming before she says it, “but I don’t think I’d be good at saying what I want to … do to you; not out loud.” Her cheeks heat up. “You know how I am.”

He’s definitely the more vocal one in their relationship, and when she tells him what she wants and likes in bed, it’s usually a quick, breathless whisper into his ear, not painting detailed pictures with her words.

“I do,” Ash says gently. “I like how you are. I like it a lot. And you know how I am,” he inclines his head, almost conspiratorially, “how I like to talk.”

Michael’s heartbeat speeds up with memories of his voice saying sweet and filthy things.

“I don’t want to put up any kind of pressure, obviously, but if you’d like, we could try how it goes with me telling you a story. Maybe asking you a question or two. If you’d be into that.”

There’s that frisson of excitement again. “We could try,” she says, halfway between unsure and flirty.

“Ready when you are,” he says with a grin. Michael quickly turns off her own lights and switches the call to audio-only before she can talk herself out of it.

“Hey.” Ash says it like an open-ended question.

“Hey,” she replies.

“Thanks for trying this with me. If you’d like, you could increase the sensitivity of your mic, so I can hear your breathing once it picks up, pretend you’re right here.”

She increases sensitivity by thirty percent and lies down on the bed.

“That’s good,” he says in a warm tone of voice. “I can almost hear you breathe already, and I definitely heard something rustling just now.”

When she doesn’t answer, he easily keeps up a flow of one-sided conversation.

“You know what I’m going to pretend? I’m going to pretend that rustling was you slipping under the sheets on the other side of our bed, which is perfect because that’s where I just lay down. So I’ll just imagine we were on different shifts today, and that you’re trying not to wake me up.” They usually work parallel shifts, but with different projects and responsibilities, it doesn’t always work out. “Sometimes, when I wake up while you get ready for bed, I hold still and pretend to be asleep until you give me that kiss goodnight.”

Michael hums. It’s a nice memory, easy to picture in the dark of these unfamiliar quarters.

“But you already know that,” he says, “because once your lips are on mine, I can never hold back.” A mild sense of self-deprecation colors his words. “A few times, I tried to pretend to be drowsy, that you kissed me awake, but I never manage. I want to be wide awake when I kiss you. I want to taste you and hold on to you and feel everything.”

A low “Yeah,” falls from Michael’s lips, remembering what _everything_ in those moments feels like: the way Ash pulls her down on top of him, his hands hot and heavy on her waist, the way they fit together, how she likes to straddle him, how he arches beneath her.

Her hips starting moving of their own accord, acting out the rhythm of the memory. “You’re really good at this,” she says, and it comes out a little breathless.

He chuckles audibly, but doesn’t reply.

“So yeah,” he says instead, “I’m pretending you’re right here, next to me, under the sheets.”

“Hm-hm.” She nods although he can’t see.

“And there’s so much I want to do, too many things at once, so I’m taking it slow, starting with one of my favorites.”

Michael makes a sound of anticipation, head light with possibilities.

“Tracing the lines of your face.” It sounds like a tease, but there’s an earnestness behind his words.

“Even in the dark, your face is my favorite.” She imagines he’s close, that he whispers the words into her ear. “There’s that little scar above your eyebrow, this small, round dip. And the arch of your eyebrows is so soft, with this _one_ sharp angle that makes it so effective when you raise them like you do.” Ash laughs a little. “And you have such a cute button nose, made for eskimo kisses.” She first learned about eskimo kisses from him, and Michael still remembers that look of fond exasperation when she responded with an impromptu xeno-anthropology lecture. “I like the sharpness of your cheekbones and the roundness of your cheeks, and when I cup your face in the dark, I can always tell when you start smiling.”

He says all of it conversationally, almost like he’s giving her a tour, and it makes her feel connected to him, seen even in the dark and across the distance; how he remembers the little details, how he’s memorized the shape of her face.

“And then,” there’s a slight hitch in his voice, “your mouth. Your beautiful mouth. I’m tracing the shape of it on my pillow right now, that’s how well I know it. It’s become muscle memory.” She might be able to hear his touch on their linens, wishes she could feel his breath on her skin. “Oh, I like it when your lips are a little wet because you licked them in anticipation, when you suck in a breath and part them, like an encouragement, an invitation to slide my thumb in.” Michael wets her lips and her hands find her breasts through soft silk, stroking, caressing, as his voice urges her on.

“Is that’s what this is, Michael?” Ash asks. “Do you want me to slide my thumb into your mouth?”

“Yeah,” she says as her eyes flutter closed.

“Do you want to suck on it?” He makes the word sound lewd. “Maybe bite it.” His breathing shudders. “That always drives me crazy.”

“I do,” she says, teeth scraping over her lower lip.

“Good.” His voice is slow like honey. “I love that, you sucking on my thumb, taking it between your teeth, sliding your tongue along my fingernail when you suckle on it. It’s hotter than it has any right to be.”

Michael opens one button of her pajama top and slides her hand in, cupping her breast, skin warm to her own touch, her hand on the other side kneading through the fabric. She swirls her fingertips across her nipples, getting them hard, eliciting a sound she knows Ash will like.

“It makes me want to slide closer, makes me want to taste you so bad,” he says in a low register, “but I’m not done exploring your face yet, so I pull my finger from your mouth and trace your jaw. You have a very kissable, bite-able jawline.” She knows from experience that he thinks so, can easily imagine the slide of teeth and his breath against her skin.

“I’m so close now I can feel you, so hot through the sheets,” he continues, a delicious strain in his voice, “and I have to cup your face in my hands and kiss you. I try to go slow, nudge my nose against yours and make the kiss soft, but once I taste you, I can’t hold back.” He pauses on something like a purr and she wonders where his hands are, if he’s touching himself. “Not when your mouth is so soft, when you tilt your head just so and make that little noise in the back of your throat …”

Michael can almost feel the warm press of his fingers where she touches her breasts, imagines the wet heat of his mouth and his tongue, and a small moan escapes her.

“Yeah,” Ash breathes. “That’s the sound. The one that makes me want to kiss you for hours and take off all your clothes and worship your body with my mouth.”

She moans again, louder and longer this time, and one of her hands slides down, slips inside her pants, palming her pussy through her underwear.

“Damn, Michael,” he says, and the way his voice almost breaks only winds her tighter. “The sounds you make, all those little breaths and moans.” A short, needy noise from him. “Please, tell me it’s okay to touch myself.”

Michael doesn’t really expect the gratified, lewd smile that spreads across her own face. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, rushed, husky. “I want you to.”

She can hear his zipper, some rustling of fabric, and then he groans, long and guttural, and she can almost picture Ash, can almost see his hand curling around his hard-on, blissful – if temporary – relief on his face. He’s so pretty when he gets himself off; when he knows she’s watching.

“I’m doing it, too,” she tells him and pushes two fingers between her folds, enjoying the rub of fabric against slick flesh, opening her mouth to let out the sounds of her pleasure, making more noise. For him.

“Good,” he says, drawing out the word, like he’s struggling to gain back control, like he can picture her, like the image makes it hard for him to think. “But where was I?” His next words come out quick. “Oh yeah, I was kissing you. I was about to pull down the sheets and see what you’re wearing.”

A wordless purr from him harmonizes perfectly with her own when she increases the pressure on her breast, digs her fingers in deep. “That silky pajama, maybe? Or did you hope I was still awake and are only in your underwear?”

“Nothing,” Michael moans, harsh, impatient, caught off-guard by her own response. She quickly pulls down her bottoms and panties, fingers finding her clit while her other hand keeps teasing her nipple. “It’s been too long. I’m not passing up a chance to fuck you.”

Her own bluntness surprises her, elicit a fresh rush of wetness between her legs as she keeps rubbing herself, too much pent-up desire surging through her body to take it slow.

“Okay, yeah,” Ash says, adjusting quickly, clearly happy to follow her lead. “Let me just get some lube, make things easier.”

She imagines him scrambling for lube in the bedside drawer, eager, turned on, his hard cock jutting out, and somehow, she keeps talking. “Make it quick. Use a lot. I’m so wet right now, and I want you to feel it.”

Michael doesn’t know what happened, what flicked that switch, but she can’t reflect on it now, too caught up in the moment, desperate to keep going. She parts her legs and slides her fingers up and down between her folds, quickly, deliberately, until she can hear the slide, until Ash must hear it, too.

He groans, “You’re killing me,” and she doesn’t even have the patience to tease him, too focused on her own desire.

“Keep talking,” she orders, arousal zinging through her nervous system, her voice thick with it. “I want to hear your voice while I make myself come.”

“Yeah,” he moans, “Fuck, yeah,” and she can hear the soft, wet slap of flesh-on-flesh from his side of the call.

“So I pull off the sheets and you’re naked. Just for me, because you want me. And I can’t help but pull down my pants and press in, pure instinct. Rub myself against you like some horny teenager.” His voice is rough, strained. “I love the heat between your legs, how wet you get, slick and perfect.”

She grunts, speeds up the pace of her fingers, her hips jerking into her own touch, his voice a tether and a fuse, about to explode and bring her home.

“And the way you rub your breasts against my chest,” he makes a lewd sound, and she wishes she could trade the touch of her own palm for the heat of his body, “until I have to stop kissing your amazing mouth, until I have to move down to your nipples, suck their softness into tiny, hard pebbles.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I can almost smell you. Not just your skin, not just your sweat, but how turned on you are.”

She’s sighing now, hissing, precariously close to sobbing. Thoughts swirling and body alight, so desperate for him to keep talking, for his hot, hungry voice to stay with her until she manages to fling herself over the edge.

Ash bites off a curse, growls, and tries again, “I want to make out with your pussy till you come, until you grind yourself up against my face without rhythm.”

Michael’s hips push hard and harder into her own touch, and she wishes he were there, kneeling between her legs, the rasp of his beard against her sensitive inner folds, his soft lips and clever tongue driving her crazy.

“Until you pull my hair and cry out.” He stutters his words a little bit, like he’s trying not to lose his grip, and all she wants is to act out his words, hold onto his head right now, use his thick, silky hair to pull him closer, exactly where she needs him.

“Until your hips buck like an animal, and all I can do is grip tight and hold on.” Every word he says, every sound he makes adds to her pleasure, tapping into what she longs for, what she craves, and she’s so close, her skin sticky with sweat, her fingers stiff from drawing punishing circles around her clit.

“And then I want to keep going until you tell me to stop because you can’t take it anymore,” he rasps, and she can hear the slide of his hand on his cock speeding up, a filthy hot sound.

“Please, Michael,” he begs, “please tell me you’re close.”

“Yes,” she hisses, “almost there,” even more turned on by how wrecked he sounds, by how he tries to hold out beyond a point that sounds almost painful.

Michael keeps thrusting her hips up into her own hand, keeps rubbing and kneading, noises growing deep inside her chest, loud and lewd and _so close_.

And suddenly, she’s falling, plunging. Her orgasm hitting hard and fast, thundering through her bloodstream. One hand in her lap, the other in her shirt, without Ash's neck or shoulder to muffle the sounds of her climax shaking through her.

When the rushing in her ears dies down, she recognizes the tail-end of a well-known invocation: “Fuck, Michael,” Ash groans, voice raw, pure sex. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

For a few moments, Michael lets her hands rest where they are, too loose and exhausted to do anything but wait as her breathing calms down.

Eventually, Ash speaks up. “You still there?” he says, his voice full of contentment with a hint of that afterglow roughness she’s come to know so well.

“After this, I’m not planning on going anywhere tonight,” she replies, words coming out slow. She finally finds the energy to shake out her shoulders and stretch.

“Oh right,” he says, “it’s almost your bedtime,” and she can hear him smile.

“Exactly,” she replies with a smile of her own, holding back a yawn, not quite ready to hang up yet.

“You know,” there’s a note of deliberate nonchalance in his tone. “I could use an early night. Maybe we could leave this channel open while we both try and go to sleep.”

Michael knows Ash never goes to bed this early, no matter how strenuous the day or their after-work activities, but she doesn’t call him out on it. They miss each other, and it’s sweet he wants to take this chance to fall asleep together like they usually do, even when they’re so far apart.

So she simply hums in response, straightening out her pajamas and sliding under her now-rumpled covers. With the reassuring sound of Ash's breathing filling the air around her, the bed feels much warmer and more welcoming.

“Sounds like another excellent idea,” she says sleepily and snuggles her head against the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> Like all my stories, this is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
> **Feedback**: short comments, long comments, questions, constructive criticism, "<3" as extra kudos, reader-reader interaction
> 
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**Author Responses**: This author replies to comments.
> 
> You can also hit me up on tumblr: [drstrangewillseeyounow](http://drstrangewillseeyounow.tumblr.com/)


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